Shouko doesn't remember a lot about what she learned in class today, and it surprises her to see notes in her handwriting in her notebook, as if someone else had taken them for her. She remembers getting dressed for class and leaving the dorm room -- alone -- and everything after that is a colorful blur. She wishes she could remember better, so she can tell Rin when she comes home. If she comes home.
She does remember the smoke and dust that choked her, the fear that coursed through her veins as they whipped round tight corners and dodged a hailstorm of bullets, her arms wrapped tight around Rin's waist (her buoy, her protector) as they raced onwards on Fuego's back towards either freedom or certain death. Only now, she doesn't have the comfort of feeling Rin's weight in front of her or the protection of Rin's body shielding her from the harm of the real world. Anything will do, even her hand -- if only she could hold her hand just one more time.
After class ends, Shouko comes home knowing Rin might be dead. And that is a probable truth she cannot handle alone. So she picks up a random cooking magazine from the coffee table and starts making the first recipe she comes across: lasagna. She overcooks the pasta and undercooks the onions, but it's okay because Shouko doesn't taste what she cooks, not really.
(She still wraps up the leftovers and puts them in the fridge, in the hopes that it will be a funny story to tell Rin when -- if -- she comes home.)
Sitting on the couch, going slowly through the photo album, Shouko thinks that once she could have been stronger, could have been able to move on without Rin. That if Rin and her were to ever separate, she would be all right. Her body tells her differently: there's a dull ache in her chest every time she's reminded of Rin's absence, a numbness that washes over her whenever she remembers what kind of trouble Rin is in.
Over the span of hours, thoughts like "Rin's hurt" and "Please God, let Rin be safe" turn to those of "Is Rin alive?" and "What do I do now?". Movements seem hopeless and fragile, so that even turning the page of the book that was meant to chronicle every sweet memory seems too difficult. The glossy cover over each picture becomes splotched with tears.
So when her mobile rings, and it's Hishida with the good news -- that Rin is safe and sound with Okakura -- it feels like a hundred-ton weight has been lifted off her chest and she can breathe again.
And the first thing Shouko can think of is, I bet Rin will be hungry when she comes home. I wonder what she'll want to eat?. The thought makes her laugh and it feels so good to do so that she doesn't realize there are tears running down her face.